


The Clearest Clue

by zarinthel



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:40:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29459925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarinthel/pseuds/zarinthel
Summary: See yourself as he saw you/that will be the clearest clue!
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 1
Kudos: 21





	The Clearest Clue

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this before 5.2

Valerian watched with interest and amusement as the Exarch bickered with Alisiae, unsure what exactly had gotten him so riled up. It was cute, the way his ears twitched when he was nervous. He wondered if the Exarch’s tail fluffed up to match. 

“Let’s have fun together,” he finally cuts in, impatient to start their venture across the great lake. He grins, twirling his staff in a bit of a showy moment. He’d made sure to change into something cool before coming back to the Source, he could take some time to make sure it got seen. 

A memory crosses through his head, more sweet in hindsight then the awful moment it had been to experience. 

“You wanted an adventure, right?” He doesn’t stop for the Exarch to contradict him. “Mm.. I don’t have a great record when it comes to castles--” Genuinely terrible, actually. “But they’re always beautiful. Let’s go!” He knocks his fist into the palm of his hand. 

This doesn’t seem to settle the argument down at all. 

Behind him, Y’shtola snorts. 

“And to think, I’d thought your charms limited to some certain white haired angst generators.” 

“Aymeric’s got black hair,” Valerian points out. 

“Does he?” 

Valerian gives her a slow blink. 

Y’shtola, being blind, doesn’t acknowledge this. 

“Everyone, _please_ ,” Alphinaud says, making soothing gestures at a rapid pace. “This is important, the whole point is that we make a _good impression--_ ” 

Valerian looks back at the Exarch. 

“He’s got red hair,” Valerian says. As if that matters. 

“Does he, now.” Y’shtola’s tail flicks off Valerian’s comments. “He’s about to have red cheeks, if you keep talking right in front of him.” 

“You’re the one talking in front of him, Y’shtola.” Oh? Is he really going to blush? Thal’s halls, Val loves that miqo’te blushes begin at the throat. This is amazing, he’s been missing out.   
“Ah, there are some things I wish aether could replicate.” Y’shtola places her chin in her hands, amusement plain. 

“That’s quite enough,” the Exarch coughs, straightening in place in an attempt to regain some dignity. 

Valerian looks down at his head, wistful. He wants to pet his ears.... 

He can hear Y’shtola laugh behind him. She won’t stop him if he really feels like causing a scene. He turns it over in his head. No.. that would be cruel. And he needs to talk it over with Thancred, first. 

Later, then. 

“Looks like it’s your turn to charge in first,” Valerian says to him, cheerful. “Since Thancred isn’t here. Keep us safe, okay?” He twirls his staff, before casually stepping into the boat. 

The Exarch spends the rest of their time in the Grand Cosmos in turmoil, channeling the churning uncertainty he feels into the pure aether sword and shield he had so faithfully practiced wielding. When he’d first known Valerian, the younger warrior of light had been a mage of a traditional path, staying far back until circumstances forced him to stand alone, with only his magicks to shield him. 

He’d been determined to be whatever Valerian needed, and from his memories-- this was what was most important. Talking to the Ironworks, combing through old notes, old letters, anything that would tell him the details of the stories that have been left out of the songs and folk tales. 

There are almost no traces of Valerian using a sword. 

There’s one-- there are reports-- An elezen grandmother in the ruins of Ishgard, who gave her name as Rielle Orl. She’d asked for Valerian’s sword, only to find that no one knew what she was talking about. 

The Exarch had thought he understood. When you grow old, it’s difficult to tell fantasy from memory-- it is all too easy for him to picture Valerian’s valiant staff morphing into a greatsword in the theatre of the mind. 

He’d continued to think that way all the way through-- all the way through Valerian’s journey up Mount Gulg. At the mountain, he’d readied his own sword and shield, while Thancred cocked his gunblade-- but Valerian had stepped in front of them both, a heavy sword gripped in both hands. 

“ _Focus_ , Exarch!” Y’shtola snaps, ill tempered from the numerous near misses of the weaponized brooms. “Keep your thoughts of domesticity for your own chambers!” 

He gets hit square in the face by the next one. 

It’s somehow worse that Valerian remains silent. Wicked white, what is going on?

His thoughts haunt him through all of the remaining rooms, until they barge in on-- a room of ghosts. 

“Oh,” Valerian says, wonder clear in his voice. And then he goes to talk to them. As one does. Some of them respond, clearly caught up in their enchanted loop of time before the Flood of Light. They offer tea, refreshments. They converse about the King, and gossip about his knights. “Reminds me of Ishgard,” Valerian says. 

The only Ishgard the Exarch has ever been to looked nothing like this. 

“It does, doesn’t it?” Alphinaud agrees, staring up at all the elven nobles that tower over him. Certain faces seem to make him do a double take, as if he recognizes them. “...Valerian,” Alphinaud says, voice going quiet. “Is this...” 

Valerian nods. 

They don’t discuss it further, letting the other party members form their own conclusions as to what Valerian and Alphinaud are seeing. The Exarch scrapes through over one hundred years of memories to the most precious book of Heavensward. What noblemen of the Source could Valerian possibly be seeing? 

The question taunts him as the paintings burst to life around them, and continues to haunt him as music-- ballroom music-- trickles in, revealing the final scene of ghostly splendour. 

“They’re really here,” Alphinaud says, something odd and uncomfortable in his eyes. 

“ _Who’s_ here?” Alisiae snaps, sword already out as she looks around. “Be clear for once in your life, dear brother. I don’t see anything hostile.” 

“The Heaven’s Ward,” Valerian says. His head is cocked, nodding in time to the ancient music. “Their shards on the First. I don’t see Ser Zephirin, however. Strange.” 

The one renowned for striking an unhealable wound. 

He finds himself longing, not for the first time, to have ignored his need to seal away the tower. To have tried instead to join the Scions, to have made even the most base attempts to be another accompanying note on the margins of Heavensward. To have seen the city of Azys Lla with his own eyes--- to have seen it with Valerian. 

“You’re right, Alisiae,” Valerian says. “There’s nothing harmful here.” His purple eyes fall on the Exarch, and a hint of the mischievous joy he had displayed when he first arrived back in the Ocular trickles through his eyes once more. He sets his staff aside, and drops into a courtly bow, the draconic wings that adorn his robe flaring out behind him. 

“Well, Exarch?” 

Pardon?

“May I have this dance?” 

Valerian extends a hand, his Fortemps manor ring shining in the light. The other crimson ring that had always adorned his other hand is gone, replaced by Thancred’s engagement ring. Somewhere behind him, the Exarch hears Alphinaud drop his book, and cringes. 

But-- he doesn’t wish to say no. 

Out of habit, he extends his crystalline hand, only realizing which one too late for it to be gracefully retrieved. He can feel pressure sensation through the rock, heat and cold, but little else. 

Valerian takes his hand, pulling him into a formal waltz hold. 

“We’ll just be a second,” he says, the sweet amusement that had been so present in his investigations into the crystal tower-- and so lacking in his journey to the First-- fully returned to him. “I only know how to lead,” Valerian confides to him. “So just try and follow along, okay?” 

Like this, it’s hard not to look into Valerian’s eyes. His face is so-- close. The two of them weave in among the spectral dancers, Valerian at certain points simply lifting the Exarch off his feet when he makes too many stumbling steps in a row. His hand is firm and warm across the Exarch’s back, the sweet music that plays from the empty piano whirling across the haunted floor. 

It feels like an eternity-- another hundred years passing in that small pocket of time. 

He feels the way Valerian’s laughter shakes his whole body as the dance comes to an end, the warrior of light stepping away from him and shaking his head slightly. 

“That was fun,” he says, as if that covers what just transpired. “Well, Ser Exarch? Can I escort you off the floor?” He offers his arm, ignoring the very hostile looks he’s receiving from Alphinaud. 

The Exarch feels his own ears droop with disappointment, and curses the tells that prevent him from ever spinning believable lies. 

“There’s no need, Valerian,” he says, voice gentle. “I’m afraid we still have quite a trial ahead of us.” 

“Some other time then,” Valerian says, in that same tone. “Okay, we’re done here!” He claps his hands together, now addressing the whole group. “We’ve already put on a show for our sorcerer--” 

Y’shtola coughs.

“Of our _might_ ,” Valerian continues, “So let's end strong.” He strides on ahead, humming to himself. 

The swish of his robes across the marble floor echo inside the Exarch’s head for days. 

Valerian’s first stop is the Empty. 

“Thancred!” He cups his hands together around his throat. “Thancred, love! I’ve got something to talk to you about!” 

He sees Thancred’s bleary eyed head peer out of the flap of one of the tents they have set up outside of Eden. He waves. 

“Val...?” Thancred’s voice comes as a sleep deprived croak. “Is something the matter, darling?” 

“Nope.” Valerian pops the ‘p’ sound for emphasis. “What do you think about the Exarch, Thancred?” 

“What do I--” The wheels click behind Thancred’s eyes. “Oh, gods. I need a drink.” 

Valerian nods agreeably. 

“I don’t know anything about dating Miqo’te. It’s going to be a learning experience.” 

He hears Thancred’s head thunk against something inside the tent.   
“I thought I was safe...” 

Valerian indulgently listens to Thancred’s groaning. 

“You’re explaining this to Ryne,” Thancred decides, suddenly. “Wait no-- absolutely not. We’re explaining this to Ryne, I can’t let you do that alone.” 

“That’s very sweet, Thancred.” 

“Who knows what you would say,” Thancred moans, already contradicting himself. “I know what you would say. Gods, Valerian. Why don’t you have a _filter_.” 

“I do have a filter,” Valerian says. He loves this. “I love you very much, Thancred Waters.” 

He hears another muffled groan. 

“Hey Thancred.” 

“Yes, darling?” 

“Have you ever gone down on a--”

_“Valerian,”_

He loves spending time with Thancred. 

The Exarch is back in the Ocular, resisting the temptation to use his mirror to see where Valerian is. During the time where Valerian was away killing Lightwardens, he could justify it to himself-- barely. He needed to make sure the light corruption didn’t take hold, he needed to keep an eye on where the Scions were in relation to the Eulmorian army, keep an eye out for stray sin eaters..the rationale might have been a little thin, but it was there. 

None of that is true anymore. 

But still...

“Warrior of Darkness here to see you, Exarch!” 

On the heels of the announcement, Valerian strolls back in, hands tucked into his pockets. The familiar greeting rises to the Exarch’s lips, then freezes on his tongue. 

“I haven’t done this since Aymeric,” Valerian comments. 

The High Commander...? 

“Oh, that was when my hair was still down my back...” 

The glint of the long blade strapped across Valerian’s back contrasts with the casual cut of his red shirt and plain black pants. He’s wearing a pair of old, worn black leather boots that end at the knee. 

He’s never seen Valerian dressed so... 

The Exarch has to be honest with himself. It’s not the clothes themselves that are so unusual-- for all of the time since Valerian brought the sky back, he’s just seemed-- happy. But why? This threat may be defeated, but Valerian by no means seems to consider his duties over. But... to straight out ask Valerian something like that.. Even when he had thought himself about to die, his ability to question Valerian had been pathetic at best. 

“You look happy,” he says instead, choosing the cowardly option. 

Valerian nods, a brilliant smile lighting up his eyes. 

“There are bad things on the horizon,” he says, voice casual. “I can feel it. Thancred’s taking the fact that we don’t think Ryne can make the journey to the Source extremely badly. Estinien had a ton of bad news for me when he stopped by the Stones. Urianger’s keeping secrets again, and Y’shtola is very worried about her Night’s Blessed. If the new soul technique doesn’t work on Ga Bu, Alisiae is going to be crushed.” 

Valerian slowly lists out his friends' horrors, one by one. 

“And you,” Valerian says, tilting his head. “You’re closing yourself off again, Exarch.” He takes a step closer. “G’raha Tia.” His voice is sweet and soothing, like an old lullaby. “Here-- look at this.” 

A hand pushes at the Exarch’s shoulder, turning him so that he can stare into his crystal mirror. Not in use, the only thing it can reflect is what’s right in front of it-- Valerian and him standing side by side. 

All of the magicks of Allag at his command, the mysteries of the future in his mind-- and yet he is rendered mute by the barest touch of Valerian’s hand. He has words to say.. Thousands of words that he can’t seem to stop himself from saying but--

“Thancred linkshelled me the other day.” The words are pulled from his lips unbidden. His eyes are transfixed to the reflection of he and Valerian, side by side. “He seemed slightly.. Intoxicated, so I wouldn’t heed his words too closely, but he brought up something--” 

This is a wreck. 

“My deepest apologies if anything I said to you made you uncomfortable,” the Exarch says, quietly. “Or-- if I implied that you were in any way--” He watches Valerian’s smile fade through the blue facets of the crystalline mirror. 

“I don’t mind hero worship,” Valerian says, which is both horribly embarrassing and a blatant lie. “It’s just...” Valerian reaches into his pocket, gently digging around until he pulls out a dark red soul crystal that he rolls around in his palm absentmindedly. “Ah.. I don’t like these kinds of conversations.” 

What kind of conversation were they having!?

Valerian’s hand clamps down around the red gem, and he closes his eyes, as if listening to something the Exarch cannot hear. 

“You’re right..” He trails off, nods again. “You’re right.” His odd, violet eyes drop back down to meet the Exarch’s. “I _do_ mind hero worship,” he says, quietly. “I’m not going to date someone who can’t see beyond the warrior-- of darkness _or_ of light.” His lips curve into a slightly crueler grin than the Exarch is accustomed to. “We deserve better than that.” 

The Exarch feels like he’s missed so many steps in this conversation that he might as well have fallen down the whole staircase. But Valerian doesn't stop, the comforting sight of his tall frame shifting to a loom as he takes steps closer and closer to the Exarch, his eyes cold. 

He feels Valerian’s hands caress his face, thumb lingering on the crystal vein that runs up his cheek. 

“Well, G’raha Tia?” He asks, voice hoarse with a strange amusement. “Do you have anything to say to me?” 

Wildly, the Exarch’s eyes end up focusing on the mirror. Valerian leans over his shoulder, eyes fixed down on his face, but there’s-- a warping, he thinks. Like there's another Valerian pressing on his other shoulder, smiling down at him. Like he’s-- surrounded-- 

He opens his mouth, grabbing for any words that come to mind. 

“When I--,” Sainted darkness, is that his voice? “When I first saw you, back on the Source. Pardon me for my poetic phrasing, but I found myself struck by your presence. The fault lies with me, for I thought that fanciful image of you would fade with time, as you moved beyond the reach of my small adventures to fight for the sake of kingdoms and countries. But I fear that the only thing that faded through time was my meager attempts at humour. My eyes were still blinded by your light, even though you-- even though by the time I awakened, you were already long buried.” 

Valerian nods, talk of his own death sliding off him easily. 

“It was only then that I became able to understand-- to see beyond what you had been to me, to see what you had been to everyone. The power of hope that became the world’s-- that became my calling.” 

He’s sweating, nerves pulsing through his flesh. It feels like he’s teetering on the edge of an invisible precipine, where one word divides the world between the seven heavens and hells. 

“That’s not what we’re asking, G’raha. We must repeat ourselves to be heard, it seems. So, let us present a different question-- in your own words, we are your light, your _unbroken thread_.” There is an ugly undercurrent to his words. “So then, if we are to be your chain that binds you, then we must ask-- G’raha, what is _our_ unbroken thread?” 

His hand is still on the Exarch’s cheek, pushing it to make sure the Exarch fully faces the mirror. 

“What kept us alive, G’raha Tia? How did we make it through Amaurot? When the light burnt our eyes, how did we bear it? When the darkness seared our soul, how did we embrace it?” 

In the mirror, Valerian smiles.

“I don’t know,” the Exarch admits, voice shaking. 

“It’s as Feo Ul said, G’raha. See yourself as we see you-- that will be your clearest clue.” 

He--

“You’re very clever,” Valerian says, head cocked, eyes unreadable. “You can figure it out.” He bends down, gently, slowly, and presses a kiss on the Exarch’s forehead. 

It feels like his lips are a brand. 

“Come find me when you know the answer, Exarch,” He says, and suddenly-- the cold edge is gone from him, like it was never there. His smile is sweet and soft. “I’ll be waiting.” 

He’s left staring alone in the room, eyes desperately searching for answers. 

Valerian isn’t used to speaking like that. But to let the unheard become understood is at the heart of why he became a dark knight; to have words languish inside his heart that would be better spoken is why Fray was always so angry with him. 

It’s not wrong to spend your whole life in service; yet it's wrong to let your friends live their lives through false after images of your presence. He likes helping people-- always has, always will. 

He wants to talk to Ardbert again. 

Usually, when he’s in this kind of mood, he’d go sit in a graveyard. But there are no massive graves on the First, where the most likely cause of death leaves no remains except for a burst of white feathers. The Night’s Blessed had their pool of stones that was all the stars in the sky; and the gardens of Il Mheg are their own monument to the dead, populated with formerly mortal trees and leafmen. But there are no graves. 

So instead, his feet dangle off the edge of the platform where he’d spoken to Ardbert and Feo Ul. 

He’s content to sit here for some time, letting the wash of the moon’s light cover his face. But-- it seems that this is quite the day for words unsaid. 

Lyna steps up behind him, making sure he knows she’s there before she takes the initiative to sit beside him. 

Valerian nods to her. 

“Good evening, Captain.” 

“You are.. Always so formal.” She smiles as she says it. “When my lord first mentioned he was waiting on one more guest-- I must express that I was not expecting someone like you.” 

It makes him laugh. 

“I get that a lot.” 

She chuckles as well. 

“You were quite a sight, sinner. I half thought you to be a fae hallucination, a purple elf birthed from some violet tree and created to enchant unsuspecting victims.” 

“Now that, I haven’t heard before.” It makes him smile. “Purple’s my favorite color, you know.” 

“I would not have guessed.” The irony in her delivery could kill a lesser man. “But I did not come here to speak to you about the wiles and whims of the fae.” 

Valerian turns his head to meet her eyes, once again conscious of the heavy greatsword still laid down beside him. 

“After I helped you open a path through the lower reaches of the tower,” Valerian says, carefully feeling out each word, “You told me that you would seek further clarification from the Exarch. Has he refused?” 

Lyna snorts. 

“You know him very well. No, he has not ‘refused’ so much as... delayed, is the term I think suits him best. He is a man very firm on the boundaries of his own stories, his own grief, and that is his right. As it is your right, oh warrior of darkness.” 

“In my world,” Valerian says, idly, “They call me the warrior of light.” 

Her eyes widen, but she does not show much surprise. 

“When you first arrived here, you told me that you came from Ul’dah.” 

Valerian nods again. 

“Though at the time I thought you a strange and foolish liar, after spending such time in your company, I have never known you to speak aught but truth-- truth, or comforting lies.” 

“Thank you.” Though he doesn’t know if that second one is a compliment. “There isn’t really an equivalent to Ul’dah, here,” Valerian says, contemplatively. “The closest would likely be me telling you I was from the city of Nabaath Areng, which has lain in ruins for a hundred years. But I fear I am further concealing what I attempt to reveal. I-- and my friends, and the Exarch, are from another world, called the Source. He summoned my friends one by one by accident, as I proved by far the most difficult to forcibly call beyond the rift.” 

He’s been advised to secrecy, but Valerian doesn’t believe in secrets like these. 

“It’s unlikely,” Valerian adds, “that the Exarch will ever be able to return to the Source. Though nothing can be considered impossible.” 

“You speak of things far beyond my ken,” Lyna says, voice slightly shaken. “But I thank you. However--- I have come to question you on something far more personal. It may seem forward, but I am my grandfather’s only living relative in this world.” 

“And he loves you for it,” Valerian agrees. 

“You say things--” Lyna swallows, trails off. She shakes her head, ears twitching. “I fear I am treading old ground.” 

“It’s new ground for you,” Valerian says. 

They sit together in silence for a while longer, while Lyna regathers her thoughts. 

“My lord guards his heart very closely. He is afraid of loss, and yet used to grief. After a century of living in this wasteland of Norvrandt, it is difficult to find someone who has lost no one, and yet in his eyes it feels as if he had already lost everyone before he ever arrived.” 

Valerian closes his eyes, contentedly listening to this so very personal vision of the Exarch. 

“He may have lost everyone,” Lyna says, voice steeley. “But he still has me. And I will not stand for-- I will not have his rekindled hope be extinguished.” 

“That’s not up to me,” says Valerian, which is a lie. 

Lyna glares at him. 

Valerian sighs, reopening his eyes. 

“We’re both older than when we first met,” he says, voice matter of fact. “I was 27, and first beginning to date Thancred; he was younger than that, and hadn’t yet lost anyone.” Valerian has such fond memories of G’raha Tia. “He was very engaged in research into ancient civilizations; he wanted to go on grand voyages of discovery; he wanted to do something so monumental, so important, that history would remember him forever.” 

“History _will_ remember him forever,” Lyna says fiercely. 

“Mmhm.” Valerian scowls a little, an expression unfamiliar to his face. “I don’t-- I don’t care about that. Being remembered. I think I’d prefer it if no one remembered me, though I know that won’t happen. There will be more heroes in the future-- they don’t need me. That’s why...” He runs a hand through his hair, tossing it in an agitated motion. 

“I want to date him,” he admits, tired. “I want to show him what that means-- I want to give him things he likes, take him to places he wants to see, surprise him with joy. That’s what I do for the people I love. But--” His eyes sharpen. “I can’t do that for someone who sees me as a living legend, Lyna. If his only goal is to stand by my side, I can’t help him-- I can’t give him anything at all.” 

He knows he’s said a lot, possibly too much. 

“Don’t take this to heart,” he adds. “I’ll still stand by him no matter what.” 

Lyna reaches over and smacks his shoulder. 

“As if anyone who has ever had the honor of fighting beside you would ever doubt that,” she says, sighing. “Here I come prepared with a shovel to have a firm talk with someone who barely has enough vices to be called a sinner; and now all I want is for you to find a place in the shade.” 

“Did you know?” the corners of Valerian’s mouth turn up. “There’s a beautiful crystal throne at the very top of the tower; it’s surrounded by a flat platform of crystal, and water fountains still run and bubble along the sides. It’s one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen.” 

“That sounds like an impossible thing, so I believe it's true.” 

“Is that how you gauge my words? How terrifying. I want to take him back up there some time...” Valerian looks at Lyna. “Ah. I don’t suppose you have any fun stories to tell me about the Exarch? While you’re here.” 

This finally gets a laugh out of the stoic captain of the guard. 

“I fear he has much worse stories about me than I do of him. But one incident does come to mind..” 

The Exarch paces back and forth in his chambers, stomach still churning from his conversation with Valerian. His forehead still burns from the kiss, driving him to hopelessly ponder the same futile problems over and over again.

Valerian’s unbroken thread. Something akin to hope, that sustains the warrior of darkness past all sense and reason. What could it be?

_You’re clever_. Valerian’s voice echoes in the back of his mind. _You can figure it out._

When it comes to matters involving Valerian, he fears his mind grows slow and fogged, as if retreating back into stasis. If only there was someone-- 

“Feo Ul!” He says, startled. That’s it-- that’s where Valerian had gotten the riddle from in the first place.

Then he clamps a hand over his own mouth, but it’s too late. 

“You called for us, our [friend] of crystal]?” Feo Ul asks, popping into the air in front of him and excitedly twirling around. For all that they were the great and proud Titania now, it seemed they still had the time to listen in on his distracted rambling. 

“Not..intentionally,” the Exarch says, first at least attempting diplomacy. “Charming and intelligent as you are, I fear Valerian has used your words to confound me.” 

“Our [sapling] has been speaking about us?” Feo Ul laughs, twirling around the Exarch’s head. “Afraid we will steal his heart away with us, Exarch? It’s too late, he’s already ours!” Their eyes flash with a not so quiet warning. 

The Exarch laughs awkwardly, trying to wave the conversation away from this. 

“Yes.. I was merely attempting to understand a faerie riddle. Though when I say it like that, it seems like a far greater task than I had initially thought...” 

Feo Ul claps their hands together. 

“Oh, I love riddles! Tell us, tell us.” 

He coughs, just to clear his throat. 

“I believe the exact words were-- ‘see yourself as we see you; that will be the clearest clue.’” Terribly embarrassing to say, and even worse the way Feo Ul’s eyes lit up. Clearly, they had some context he did not. 

“He would have made a great Titania,” Feo Ul says, for one second seeming regretful. “The pretty pieces of his soul would have made that dance hall last forever...” 

He doesn’t want to imagine that. 

“So you do understand what he meant.” He tries to control the eagerness in his voice, though it’s remarkable how little he succeeds. 

“He’s my [adorable sapling]! Of course I do.” Feo Ul bops the Exarch on the nose, then wags their finger. “The problem is the same as it’s always been, our crystal [friend]. You’re looking at him from the wrong side of that glorious mirror.” 

Flashes of Valerian’s adventures pour through his mind like cold water, familiar comfort turned into a terrifying deluge. 

“But I can’t...” His voice is thick. “I don’t have the ability to accompany him.” 

His sensitive ears twitch and curl down to protect themselves from the loud ring of Feo Ul’s laughter, and-- Titania gestures with their staff. Around him, everything fades. And then-- a sight that he’s never seen, that he’s always-- that--

Ser Aymeric de Borel looks up from his desk, a vague frown furrowing his brow. 

“Is someone... ?” 

But after no response, he quietly goes back to his endless paperwork. 

“Why are you showing me this,” the Exarch says, trying not to grind his teeth together. “Feo Ul--” 

Estinien Wyrmblood looks up, perched on the highest roof of Mor Dhona. His face is twisted into an annoyed grimace as he stares down at the ground, where a very small lalafell appears to be waving at him. 

“Stop--” 

Thancred Waters tends the fire in the wastes of the empty, Ryne sitting beside him. She’s charging bullets again, stacking the pile almost as tall as she is. 

The Exarch brings down his staff, banishing the visions as no more than the scraps of Valerian’s borrowed memories. 

“Feo Ul,” he says, voice thin. “I didn’t need to see that. Those were-- I don’t want you to show me Valerian’s...” 

“Isn’t that what you were asking for?” Feo Ul crosses their arms. “To see the world as he sees it.” They cock their head. “Oh wait.. Our [sapling] has been very clever. Very very clever. Where were you when he said this, oh Exarch~” 

“We were... just in the Ocular.” 

“In front of your mirror.” 

“Yes, in front of the--” 

Feo Ul’s laughter once again fills the room. 

“Then we just need to see that from Valerian’s view, right?” A warning note enters their voice. “This illusion will need more than raw power alone to break through.” 

Around him, everything changes. His vision clouds until everything is tinted with the blue crystal of the tower, and when he moves his mouth, no sound comes out. He reaches his hands forward, but they slide off the slick surface of the blue glass, his fists slipping away whenever they connect. 

Then he looks through the blue tinted material, and freezes. He can see-- well, he can see himself. Not a self that Valerian has ever seen, however. This is-- this is from close to 80 years ago. 

He watches his younger self anxiously slip off the hood once he was alone in his private chambers, then hastily rummage through the piles and piles of books scattered on the ground until he finds the most important one-- 

It wasn’t the most important one when it came to finding Valerian in the timeline. 

_Within this book, you will find a record of the summoning techniques of ancient Allag, as penned by the scholar Y’mhitra Rhul. Included, you will find the techniques used by the warrior of light, and passed down to the summoners of the Immortal Flames. Compiled through his time in the Crystal Tower; the Carteneau Flats; the city of Azys Lla; and fragments of Dalamud too dangerous to name._

Y’mhitra Rhul, Y’shtola’s sister, had written it. Valerian had annotated it. It was akin to reading a dry treatise where every so often a footnote would simply read ‘revealed to me through the Echo’. 

His self in the mirror isn’t interested in any of that, though-- he’s had this book memorized for years. Instead, he opens the book to one specific page. 

The Exarch doesn’t need to squint through the glass to know what it says. 

_The Warrior of Light revealed to me that the Crystal Tower could only be operated by one of Allag’s royal bloodline as a safety measure against invading or traitorous forces gaining traction against the Empire-- and that in the present day, only one miqo’te could still claim this blood. G’raha Tia, a fellow scholar of Sharlayan, researcher for the Sons of Baldesion, and founding member of NOAH provided invaluable help in unraveling the mysteries of the Crystal Tower’s defenses and also the key to understanding the fall of the Allagan Empire-- a feat that has challenged archeologists and historians for thousands of years. In this chapter, we will talk about how Allagan cloning technology helped unwittingly preserve their summoning knowledge far past the bounds of time._

The book was dated for a time not yet written-- Y’mhitra was likely still working on her rough draft. 

It wasn’t a big deal. 

In the author’s note, Y’mhitra’s thank you to Valerian reads like an eulogy-- he had died between the final revisions and the first publication. 

There are other books like that one, of course. The thaumaturge’s guild had opened their doors to the Ironworks, including their forbidden tomes-- the ones where Valerian’s experiences with black magic had been recorded for generations to come. 

Many of the Ironworks had found it fitting, for the Warrior of Light’s own research to be used as the basis for the summoning spell they’d be using. The Exarch has other books-- Moenbryda Wilfsunnwyn’s The Art of Aetherytes, Urianger’s research notes on the Ascian’s ability to call souls between planes; Papalymo’s research notes on his own specialty of channeling more aether than one body could hold. Y’shtola’s research into the different types of aether, and on top of that, Matoya herself. Matoya had left her entire library to Y’shtola, and when Y’shtola died before she did, she donated them all to the Ironworks. She was an immeasurable aid with her speciality-- the Antitower. 

And then--

“You’re not _looking_ ,” Feo Ul says, their face flashing in front of his eyes and startling him backwards. Their hands are on their hips, and they shake their head at him. 

“[Friend] of crystal, here you are, seeing what he sees. A small kitten, weeping on his knees. Consumed by the past, so caught by our charm-- the future he sees is one of harm.” 

Feo Ul’s eyes stare into his. 

“Our delicate flower blooms and fades; immortalized without accolades. Like us he loves your company-- like us he leaves when he can’t breathe.” 

The Exarch watches the scene blur and be replaced by a much more recent scene. Valerian stands right next to him, eyes gleaming as he looks at the mirror dead on. His one hand is placed on... is on the Exarch’s cheek, on the crystal seam. They stand together, shoulder to shoulder. Or, well. The Exarch’s head to Valerian’s shoulder. 

They look like... a team.

Fellow adventurers, even. 

Around him, he hears the crystal shatter. 

Valerian is sitting in the ruins of Laxan Loft when the Exarch finds him. 

“Did you know?” Valerian looks up at him. “This is where Ardbert and his friends faced the Shadowkeeper.” 

The Exarch nods, trying not to shuffle his weight from foot to foot. 

“The Warriors of Light’s final victory-- and their ruin.” 

“Not really,” says Valerian, who then lapses into silence. “She was a friend of Ardberts-- the Shadowkeeper. Ardbert refused to kill her, even if it would doom the world.” 

He doesn’t know this story. 

“Of course, Ardbert then went on to kill the Ascians responsible for the Shadowkeeper and ushered in the Flood anyway.” Valerian pats the crumbling stone beside him. “You look like you’ve come to a decision, Exarch.” 

“I--” 

He had come to a decision. But it seems-- paltry, in the glowing light of dawn. The Exarch swallows down the lump in his throat and sits down, feeling his tail twitch beneath the weight of his robe. 

“I have a question for you,” he admits. “You don’t have to answer... I realize you didn’t-- you didn’t like when I asked you about your plans for the future.” 

“It’s not usually a question I mind,” Valerian says, eyes fixed on the distant skyline of the Crystarium. “At the time, you just reminded me of Aymeric, and I got annoyed because I thought I’d die without seeing him again.” 

That’s...awful. 

“I’m sorry. I should've--”

“Done what? Died?” 

He’s never heard Valerian sound this angry. There’s a sibilant hiss to his words, the tinge of an accent so old that it has slept since childhood. 

“Your life is mine now, Exarch. You don’t get to try that with me.” The warrior of darkness finally turns his head, the bangs that normally hide at least one of his eyes now concealing nothing of the cold flame that burns through their narrowed gleam. “I’ll kill you first.”   
The threat is as genuine as the concern. 

The Exarch feels his heartbeat pick up, and desperately tries to convince himself it’s a fear response. 

“Is that understood, Exarch.” 

“Yes I--,” Speaking is so difficult. “Yes.” 

“That’s great. So, what did you want to ask me? I’m here for you.” 

This conversation is doing a great deal to make the Exarch realize how much he hadn’t understood about Valerian when he was still on the Source; cherishing Valerian’s friendliness, he had failed to perceive even the most gentle of his boundaries. 

“It’s about...my name.” 

Valerian’s eyes finally move away from the horizon to settle on his face. 

“You.. well, you alternate it. Sometimes. Why is that?” 

“Isn’t it because it feels intimate?” Valerian’s lips twist in amusement. “G’raha Tia.” 

Ah--

“You mentioned once that when I say it, it makes you feel young again. It’s cute.” 

The answer is both lighter and sweeter than expected. The Exarch has to fight down another blush. 

“Valerian...” 

“Yes, G’raha?” 

_Wicked white._

“The answer to your riddle. Your unbroken thread.” 

Valerian is watching him with a faint smile on his face, still and patient. 

“What keeps you going, that thing that pushes you to face each new threat--” He’s babbling, trying to delay his own revelation. His ears flatten with shame. 

“When I was a child,” Valerian says, taking the burden off his shoulders. “My mother would take me out, and teach me how to hunt. And while we were out there, sitting around a campfire, she would talk about what she thought was most important in life. Kindness. Adventure. Charity. Learn about the world; make the world better; make it’s people happier.” 

Valerian kicks his legs against the stone, smiling happily. 

“You’ve done all of that here with the Crystarium. It’s beautiful.” 

The Exarch finds himself speechless. 

“Of course, none of those are my driving motivations.” 

He sees Valerian take the red soulstone out again. His fingers caress the surface, gentle as they polish it’s already gleaming facets. 

“Love,” the Exarch says hastily, before his throat once again clogs. “It’s love.” 

“Got it in one, sweetheart,” Valerian says, a low, content rumble threaded through his voice. “Well. One in three. Love, duty. Rage.” 

He taps his heart. 

“There you go, G’raha. You solved it. So what now?” 

Love, duty, rage. It’s so... simple. Everything about Valerian, distilled into three words. He feels like it’s too much, somehow. Too easy. Like the idea of being able to understand Valerian is itself a scary, uncomfortable thing--

Which is the core of the problem. 

“You hated it,” he says, finally. “When I told you I wanted to go adventuring with you.” 

Valerian doesn’t contradict him, making his stomach drop. 

“Not because you minded the idea-- the, the records of your journeys speak for themselves. But because. Because I did the same thing I was proud not to have done-- to have elevated you beyond human. Even if my intent was not to use you as a weapon, the result is the same-- I--I--”

“Shh...” Says Valerian, arm wrapping around him to settle over his shoulders. “I appreciated the thought.” 

Unlike him, Valerian is an excellent liar.   
“Did you.. Did you know,” The Exarch says, quietly. “Who I was, before...” 

“Oh.” Valerian pauses for a second. “No. Looking back it was obvious, but trying to figure out who someone is, or what they’re hiding, really isn’t something I spend a lot of time doing. Think Thancred knew, though.” 

He doesn’t know if that’s comforting or not. 

“So, G’raha Tia?” Valerian’s hand slips upwards to cup the Exarch’s cheek in an echo of what he’d done last time. “Want me to show you what you missed out on?” 

Valerian’s smile is a wicked flash in the dawning light. 

“I have-- something else to say to you, first,” the Exarch says, trying to resist the allure of the offer. “Valerian--”

It is beyond arrogant of him to say this. 

“Valerian. I want to be your unbroken thread.” 

It’s this that draws his first laugh from Valerian’s throat. 

“It’s too late,” Valerian says, steady frame still shaking from laughter. “You already are, Raha.” And with that, he pushes G’raha’s cheek the extra inch, leaning down to press his lips against the wide open shock of his expression. 

His hand strokes G’raha’s head, softly petting his ears. 

“Remember that, alright?” Valerian presses another kiss on G’raha’s forehead. “Remember who you are to me.” 

He draws back, staring at G’raha’s face. 

“I wish you could see what I do,” Valerian says, mouth curling into a smug smile. “It kind of feels like I’ve stolen something precious.” 

“No...” G’raha says, for once in his life managing to state his mind. “I’m sure I have the better view.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! please comment ;;


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